


Symbolic Gesture

by Anbessette



Category: Rules of Engagement (TV)
Genre: Bisexuality, M/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anbessette/pseuds/Anbessette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the finale, Timmy and Russell start working to make sure their marriage will actually allow Timmy to stay in the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symbolic Gesture

They hit the first stumbling block in in line at the immigration office. The girl behind the counter took one look at Russell and said “You've gotta be kidding me.”

“We're here to apply for a spousal visa – ” Timmy began, but was cut off.

“You dated my best friend,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You met her at a bar after her sister's bachelorette party, went home with her that night and promised to be her date to the wedding, then never called her again. When we ran into you two weeks later, you ran away and hid in the corner, and _you_ -” She turned her glare on Timmy. “- tried to convince us the man behind the lamp was a hallucination.”

“Ah.” Timmy coughed. “That's … unfortunate. I'm sorry we had to meet again in these circumstances. But getting back to the matter at hand ...”

“Oh, the visa application? No.”

“What?”

“I'm not sure what you and Mr Hallucination are doing here, but I know it's a scam. That man is _obviously_ straight. Are _you_ straight?” she demanded, poking Timmy in the chest with her pen.

“I'm bisexual, not that it's any of your business – no. None of this is any of your business! Your opinion of Mr Dunbar, deserved or not, is irrelevant; your job is to give us the application form and -”

“Oh.” Russell leant across the desk, smirking. “I see what you're getting at here. Love your optimism, honey, but let me give you some advice I had to learn the hard way: Hitting on someone when their husband is standing right next to them? Nooo.”

“That is not what I'm doing.”

“Oh, going for the threesome? A bold move. But again, rookie mistake. You don't want to target newlyweds for that kind of fun. They're still drunk on love and wedding champagne. The horrifying drudgery of married life is yet to sink in. You want to wait, give them time to get to the point where they feel like they might have to scream if they go one more night having the same old sex with the same old person, and they'd do just about anything for a little bit of variety, and that is when you pounce. I could give you some tips if you -”

“FilloutthisformsomeonewillbewithyoushortlyNEXT!”

* * *

“Amazing,” said Timmy as they sat down to work on the form. “For once, your remarkable ability to repulse and horrify women saves the day.”

“Don't sell yourself short. That honest face of yours deserves some credit too. I'm pretty sure she believed you about that whole 'not straight' thing.”

“Well, I should certainly hope so.”

“Wait. What? What was that? Timmy, it almost sounds like you were serious.”

“Please, sir, just be quiet and let me fill out the application.”

“Oh my God. You are, aren't you? You _are_! How did I not know about this?”

“You must be joking.” Timmy looked up incredulously. “Of course you didn't know about this, Mr Dunbar. No-one in their right mind would come out to you! I got enough gay jokes and general relentless torment without giving you any more ammunition.”

“Come on, those were just jokes,” protested Russell. “You should have told me. I wouldn't have given you crap about that if I'd thought it was real.”

“Ah. Of course. I see it now. When you were pointing and laughing and calling me gay, I should have told you 'Actually, I had a boyfriend for two years when I was at university'. Because clearly that revelation would result in _less_ homophobic mockery.”

“It would have,” Russell insisted sulkily. “I'm not that much of an an asshole. … OK, OK, don't look at me like that, I'm a huge asshole. But not in _that_ way. And hey, how come you're telling me now, if I'm such a terrible person to come out to?”

“Because I married you last night. As Jeff said, that means we are 'legally gay'. This is going to be complicated enough to pull off without that kind of ridiculous double bluff – pretending to be a straight man pretending to be queer.”

“Hmm.” Russell fell silent, and Timmy hoped that would be the end of that. But before he'd reached the second page of the form, Russell said “So what happened?”

“I'm sorry?”

“With your boyfriend.” Russell pronounced the word gingerly, but his discomfort was considerably less blatant than Timmy had expected of him. “Two years. What happened to make it all blow up?”

“I wouldn't say it blew up, sir. I suppose the catalyst was my decision to pursue my graduate studies in America. He wanted to stay in England, and we decided it was better to make a clean break than take a chance on long-distance in the hopes that one of us would change his mind.”

Russell just looked at him, confused and a little suspicious.

“I realise two years is longer than any relationship you've personally experienced, Mr Dunbar, but I assure you, he was hardly the love of my life.”

“Well,” said Russell. Suddenly he smirked, and leaned in closer to Timmy. “That's not really true. It's not half as long as _our_ relationship.”

_We are not in a relationship!_ Timmy wanted to protest, but restrained himself. It wasn't a good idea to mention that within earshot of any immigration officials.

“Timir Patel and Russell Dunbar?” called out a woman standing in a doorway on the other side of the room. Timmy quickly stood up. “Come on in.”

* * *

“So,” said the woman after they were seated in front of her desk. “Let's cut the crap. Are you committing fraud?”

“What?” Russell gave a fake laugh, and ostentatiously took Timmy's hand. “We're here to arrange for my husband to stay in the country. That's all.”

“My receptionist says she has reason to doubt that, and honestly, a wedding that occurs the same day someone gets word that their visa has expired is always very suspicious. I'm sure you're aware that green card marriages are illegal. If that is what you're doing, and I find out, Mr Dunbar will end up in prison and Mr Patel will be deported. So I'll ask you again. Is this a sham marriage?”

“Absolutely not,” said Russell. “I mean, yeah, we want a green card out of this. Obviously I wouldn't have gotten down on one knee in a hospital chapel yesterday if Timmy wasn't about to be kicked out of the country.”

“Perhaps you should let me do the talking,” interjected Timmy.

“Na-na-na!” Russell gestured imperiously at him, then turned his attention back to their interviewer. “But that doesn't mean what we're doing is a sham. If someone at your office hadn't tanked his work visa, I might not have proposed _last night_ , but I'd still want to keep Timmy with me for the rest of my life. No-one's ever been as important to me as he is. We've been together a long time now, and I'm pretty sure I can't live without him any more. I don't even want to imagine what it would be like to never see him again. So yeah, when I heard I was about to lose him because some idiot screwed up a routine check, I asked him to marry me. What else were we supposed to do, just say 'eh, we had a good run'? Not gonna happen. I need Timmy. Our marriage is sudden, but that doesn't mean it's not real. It's the most real thing I've ever done.”

Timmy was staring at Russell in amazement. “Sir, I ...” he began shakily, then stopped, appalled at himself.  _Sir?_ After all Russell's hard work, his convincing lies, Timmy had ruined everything with one slip of the tongue.

“Timmy, not in public,” chided Russell, squeezing his hand and shooting a filthy smirk at the interviewer. Years of practice had allowed him to perfect the art of innuendo, and his tone – a mixture of smug, faux-scandalised, amused and lecherous – screamed 'it's a sex thing' more clearly than if he'd said as much out loud.

Timmy was so relieved he could have kissed him.

“My apologies,” he said to the interviewer. “I was … a little overwhelmed. Totally inappropriate, it won't happen again.”

“On the bright side,” Russell chimed in “I bet one of the questions you have to ask is about our sex life, yeah? You can put a big old check next to that one.”

“Let's move on. Do your parents know about this relationship?”

“Way to kill the mood.”

“No,” said Timmy, fighting down a moment of panic – he hadn't even considered the question of what to tell his family about this situation. “My parents are the traditional type. They expect me to marry an Indian woman from a good family, preferably one of their own choosing. They attempted to set me up with such a woman a few years ago, actually, and were very disappointed it didn't work out. I'm sure you can understand my reluctance to tell them about Russell.”

“It's a no from me too,” said Russell. “They've both met Timmy, but I kind of didn't tell them we were dating. It's not a big deal. We barely talk anyway.”

The woman nodded, looking faintly suspicious, and made a note. “And your friends?”

“Of course,” said Timmy. It would be safe if she tried to check up on that: Audrey and Jennifer were intelligent enough to go along with it, Jen would kick Adam until he said the right thing as well, and Jeff would tell anyone who would listen that Russell and Timmy were together, meaning it as a joke.

“They were at our wedding,” added Russell. “It was kind of a double wedding deal with Adam and Jen, and Jeff and Audrey were witnesses for both.”

The interview went on for quite a while, asking probing questions about various details of their lives and their fictitious relationship. It concluded with the promise of another interview, to be conducted at their home on an unspecified date.

As he walked out, Timmy was elated – they'd done it, managed to start the process towards his new visa without being called out as liars. Well. Technically, everyone they spoke to had accused them of lying, but they hadn't been able to prove it, which was the main thing. But he grew concerned as he looked over the sheaf of questions the woman had given them, which she claimed were a non-exhaustive list of the sort of things they might be asked at their next interview.

“So! That went pretty well, huh?” said Russell once they were on the street. “Lunch? I'm starving.”

“Have you looked at these questions? I already know most of these things about you, but for your side of it we're going to have to do some extensive study.”

“Hey! I resent that.”

Timmy looked at him incredulously. “Sir, until yesterday you didn't know my _name_.”

“... You have a point. OK. Lunch first, then we'll go back to my place and cram.” He slung a companionable arm around Timmy. “Relax. I've never studied for anything until the last minute, and I got through high school OK. We'll be fine.”

* * *

To Timmy's surprise, by the end of the afternoon he was actually beginning to believe it. They had settled down in Russell's living room and, using the questions provided as a guide, more or less gone over the story of Timmy's life. With a few notable exceptions (there was a brief shouting match when Russell expressed his surprise that the country Timmy risked being deported to was, in fact, South Africa), it went as smoothly as they could have hoped.

This was the first time Timmy could remember Russell showing a semblance of interest in his life, and although he tried his hardest to remind himself that it was only out of necessity, the attention was … flattering. By the time the conversation started to wind down, he was feeling genuinely fond of his former boss.

“I think we can leave it there for today.”

“Thank God.” Russell threw the sheaf of questions across the room and slumped down on the couch, closing his eyes.

“Sir.” Timmy took a deep breath before continuing in a rush “I want to thank you for all you've done today. The whole situation is entirely your fault, but this is a solution I never would have anticipated, and it actually seems to be working. You could have just ruined my life and walked away, but instead you did _this_ , and I'm grateful.”

Russell grinned at him. “You're welcome. It's kind of the least I can do.”

“But that's just what I'm saying. It really isn't. You're putting actual effort into this. What you said to the interviewer, for instance, was inspired. You sounded like a real husband. How did you come up with that?”

“That was easy. The best way to convince someone of a lie is to wrap it up in the truth, right? I just said what I felt.”

“You don't have feelings!” Russell's face fell, and Timmy realised he might have been a little harsh. “Not about _me,_ ” he amended.

Russell sat up straighter, frowning. “We both know that's not true.”

“We do? Since when?”

“Since when? Uh, I don't know, at _least_ since what happened with Radha!”

“And what do you think happened with Radha?”

“That's where you're going with this? OK. Fine. I'll say it. Her accent was like yours when she took my order, and I missed you, so I started talking to her, asked her out at the end of the night. I liked her because she reminded me of you. I tried to tell myself it was the opposite, that this …” He waved his hand vaguely between them. “ _This_ was because my subconscious had worked out that if you were a woman you'd be the perfect girl for me, and then I met Radha, and she was. But when you came back, with actual you right there Radha being a hot Indian chick who took care of me wasn't looking so perfect anymore. I started wanting her to be more like you – she asked me what kind of haircut I thought she should get, and it kind of went from there. And then there was that …you know, the _incident_ in the office. I didn't know you'd come in, I thought Radha and I were the only ones there, but … well, you don't actually look that much like a chick from behind. The reason I didn't realise it was you was, I thought I was looking at my girlfriend and pretending she was you. And you know all of this, you knew what was going on before I did! So now I've admitted it, will you believe that I was telling the truth?”

Timmy tried to form some sort of response, but found he couldn't. The best he could do was gape at Russell helplessly. He was partly correct; of course Timmy had noticed the obvious resemblance between himself and Russell's new girlfriend. He just hadn't thought it was significant – after Russell and Radha broke up, he'd written it off as a somewhat disturbing phase that they would never speak of again. He'd certainly never expected Russell to bring it up, let alone describe the situation with any degree of accuracy. Coming from him, this showed an unprecedented level of self-awareness, one that Timmy had no idea how to respond to.

Russell seemed to have realised it would be awhile before he got anything coherent out of Timmy. “OK,” he said. “I'm gonna go to the bathroom. You can keep opening and shutting your mouth like a fish, or whatever.”

He'd brought it up to convince Timmy that he'd been sincere back at the immigration office. That those things he'd said, sounding exactly like a genuine partner afraid of losing his new husband, were what he really felt. _Want to keep him with me for the rest of my life_ … _Need him, can't live without him … No-one's ever been this important … The most real thing I've ever done …_

“Oh God,” said Timmy, and buried his head in his hands. Russell had asked him to marry him, and God help them both, it was starting to look as if he had _meant_ it. He'd gotten down on one knee, after all, and only mentioned the citizenship angle when Timmy hesitated. When the priest offered them the opportunity to “seal their marriage with a kiss”, Russell had leaned in. It was Timmy who refused.

At that thought, some small part of Timmy felt ashamed. He quashed it mercilessly. He did not need to start feeling guilty about hurting Russell's feelings. Russell had almost gotten him deported! Had injected him with a goddamn microchip!

He'd said, eventually, that it was because he wanted so badly to know where Timmy was, after he'd once been unable to find him and panicked … _Normal_ people responded to that feeling by talking to the object of their affections rather than chipping them like a pet dog, but an urge to know where the other person was at all times and worrying unduly whenever they were out of your sight was actually fairly common for someone in love …

Which was not in any way an excuse for what Russell had done! At all! Why was it so hard to convince himself of that?

That was the question, wasn't it. He'd always had this problem, from the very beginning. Some of Russell's behaviour was downright awful, and just about _everything_ he did was completely infuriating, but for as long as they'd known each other, Timmy had been far more eager to see the good in Russell than he probably deserved. After knowing him two months, and realising that being Russell's assistant was not even close to his dream job, Timmy had been ready to quit … until Russell had sent a text, saying “I looked over the report you showed me, we can use it on our next project – oh, and happy two-month-iversary”. And from that moment on, Timmy was lost.

(Audrey had looked at him despairingly, and said “You're never going to leave him, are you?”. Timmy hadn't thought about that conversation for years, but in retrospect it had been almost prophetic. Yesterday he'd gotten up in front of a minister and vowed never to leave Russell until death did them part.)

The pattern had continued for years. Every time Russell screwed up, all it took to make it right was a hint of remorse, or the most trivial kind deed. Even now. This was the worst thing Russell had ever done to Timmy, but he'd tried to make amends and said something terrifyingly honest, and now Timmy just wanted to forgive Russell everything. It was too hard to stay angry when this flood of helpless affection threatened to overwhelm him.

Timmy lifted his head from his hands, and stood up. All right. Russell wanted him to stay, needed him in his life, hated the thought of losing him. Timmy … well, he honestly wasn't sure what he was feeling. But he at least knew he wasn't angry anymore, and that was a start. They could talk about this like reasonable adults.

Russell wasn't really in the bathroom. When Timmy stepped out of the living room, he found him pacing back and forth just out of sight of the door..

Hearing Timmy clear his throat, Russell stopped. “Yeah?”

“At the wedding,” Timmy blurted out. “You – did you want to kiss me?” Apparently his brain was going to insist on feeling guilty about that. “Because it's all right,” he continued. “I understand. I'm sure you meant it as – as a symbolic gesture of –”

“Exactly. That's what I meant. Symbolic gesture. Very meaningful. So, y'know, thanks for ruining that. I think I'm allowed to hold it against you for the rest of our lives.”

“Well. If it's that important ...”

Timmy leaned in quickly and touched his lips to Russell's. It was a symbolic gesture. A belated part of the ceremony. Right up until Russell's tongue came into play (god, he moved fast), and Timmy remembered that the plan had been to have a reasonable, adult conversation. So much for that.

“Right,” said Timmy, disentangling himself. “I'm so glad we resolved that. I'll just be going now.”

As he headed for the door, Russell regained the ability to speak.

“Yeah. OK. See you at the office on Monday.”

Timmy stopped, and turned around. “Sir … I don't work for you.”

“Of course you do. You've always been my assistant. I know you left after you got all pissed off about the tracking chip thing, but that's in the past now! Everything can go back to normal.”

“It's really not as simple as that. For one thing, you already have an assistant. You can't fire him just because you like someone else better.”

Russell winced. “Yeah, maybe not. HR would come down on me like a ton of bricks, he's got them in his pocket. Did I tell you he brought the HR lady with him to his interview?”

“Really? That was a smart move.”

“But we can find a way to get around that! Just give me some time to think it over, and -”

“It's not just that. I have a job.”

“So? Quitting is way easier than firing someone! Just don't go back.”

“I'm not going to quit. I _like_ my job.”

“Better than working for me?”

“Yes!”

Timmy was very sure on that point. He spent a lot of time comparing his new boss to Russell. He sometimes made these comparisons out loud, which seemed to make Mr Charles confused and a little uncomfortable. But that was beside the point. He reminded himself every day how lucky he was to have this job, with these people, and how very stupid it would be to _miss_ Russell Dunbar.

“That's not fair! I know I screwed up, but I fixed it! You forgave me, you even thanked me … I thought I was getting you back!”

“Sir ...”

Russell sank down onto the couch. “It's not fair,” he repeated. “I miss you.”

“I missed you too.” Timmy came over and sat down beside him. “And I am glad we're speaking to one another again. But … I missed you in a personal sense, not a professional one. You were without a doubt the worst boss I ever had. I think the only reason I stayed as long as I did is that somehow, you also ended up becoming my best friend.”

“Oh yeah?” Russell looked pleased. Then, seeming to remember the rest of what Timmy had said, he added “And I was not that bad a boss.”

“When I was your assistant, you made me do all manner of ridiculous and humiliating tasks, like organising your pornography collection and helping you pick up girls and chasing pigeons for your amusement. Now that I am your husband, you can't do that to me anymore.”

“Fine, fine, OK! Forget it. Keep your crummy new job.”

“Please, sir. I'm not saying everything has to change. A lot of the other things you made me do, like accompanying you on vacations or at parties, actually make considerably more sense for a spouse than for an assistant. We'll still spend time together – in fact, we probably ought to move in together if this marriage is going to convince anyone. You can still drag me into your ridiculous schemes, as long as they're outside of work hours. It's going to be fine.”

“OK.” As Timmy hesitated, Russell forced a tiny smile. “No, really. You're right. I mean, I miss you in a professional way as well – the new guy sucks. But I won't fire him.”

“Thank you.” Timmy stood up. “I'll see you on Monday.”

“What?”

“Getting your lunch is one of the things I used to do that's on the borderline between things you can ask of an assistant and things you can ask of a spouse. I'll bring something over during my break, and we can divide up my old duties between me and your new assistant.”

“Sounds good.” Russell stood up too, and walked over to the door. As Timmy left, he called out “Tim?”

“Yes?”

“Will you be fulfilling the, uh … _traditional_ spousal duty?”

Timmy looked at him in silence for a few moments.

“Don't ever refer to sex as a 'spousal duty' again,” he said finally.

“That's not an answer!”

“I'm not dignifying that with an answer,” Timmy called as he stepped into the elevator.

* * *

Brenda gave a deep groan, and hauled herself up off the couch. “Coming!”

She opened the door, and blinked in confusion.

“Russell?”

“Hey! How's my favourite lesbian?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.”

“We don't talk,” protested Brenda as he walked in. “I sometimes talk to Jeff while you stare at my boobs from across the table, that's the closest we get.”

“Well, I won't stare at your boobs during this conversation, and in return you can give me some advice. Deal?”

“Why would you want my advice? You barely know me.”

“I know you're gay. And I sure as hell can't ask Timmy for advice about this, so congratulations, you're it.”

She was still exhausted from her labour two nights ago. Despite how tiny Russell was, she probably wouldn't be able to physically eject him from her apartment right now. Giving in, she sat down and pointed Russell towards a chair.

“OK. Hit me. What's the deal, why can't you bug Timmy about it instead of me and what does me being gay have to do with it?”

“I can't ask Timmy because it's about him. You know we got married?”

“Yeah, Jeff mentioned it when he brought me home from the hospital. Green card thing, right?”

“Something like that. Anyway, I come seeking marriage advice.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything. That's the problem, what we're not doing.” Russell folded his hands and leaned forward. “He's not having sex with me. How do I get him to start?”

“What? Russell, that's crazy.”

“It's a serious problem!”

“How can it be? Are you even gay?”

“No. But so what? Timmy's not gay either.”

Brenda closed her eyes and counted to ten.

“OK,” she said, as calmly as she could. “You seem to think that's a good point, but it's really the exact opposite. Two straight men not having sex with each other is not a serious problem.”

Russell scowled. “I didn't say he was straight. He's bi. I guess I am too.”

“What, really?” Brenda opened her eyes. “Are sure?”

“Pretty much. I mean, I'm still kind of new to this, but yeah. After he told me, I looked up 'bisexuality' online.” A dreamy smile spread across Russell's face. “There was a ton of porn, it was awesome. But anyway, I found this thing, this test? It said 'Thinking about the people you've been attracted to so far in your life, were they all of the same gender? If you said No then we feel like it's okay for you to call yourself bisexual.' So that's that, right?”

“You're – hold on. You're attracted to Timmy?”

“Duh. Why did you think I wanted to sleep with him?”

Brenda shrugged. “Some kind of twisted mind game?”

“No! Look, there's nothing twisted, it's all really simple. I married him and now I want sex. That's all. Hey!” Russell sat straight up. “That's it. When you get married, you have to have sex. You've gotta consummate the marriage or it doesn't count, it can get annulled.”

“Are you kidding me?” said Brenda. “No. NO. You cannot make Timmy sleep with you by telling him his visa will be invalidated if he doesn't!”

“You don't think it'd work?”

“That's not why you shouldn't do it! You shouldn't do it because if it worked, it'd be sexual assault!”

“What?”

“If you make someone do you by threatening to get them deported ...”

“I wasn't going to threaten him! Jesus! Just point out that it's, y'know, the rule ...” He trailed off. Brenda was shaking her head. “Still not cool?”

“No.”

“Fine, forget it. And stop looking at me like that! I didn't think of it like … I'm not evil, OK? Just tell me what to do.”

“There's only one thing you can do. Talk to him.”

Russell grimaced. “That's such a chick thing to say. Do you know any dudes who could take over as my guide to the gay side?”

“I'm serious. We don't know why he doesn't want to sleep with you. I mean, you told me you've only just figured out this bi thing yourself. Have you told him?”

“... Technically, no.”

“There you go. You've been chasing girls as long as he's known you, and you never told him you were anything other than straight. He might not even realise you're into him.” She waved a hand. “Or maybe he just doesn't like you. Fifty fifty.”

“He adores me. I'm his best friend. He told me so … He's kind of a girl too.”

“Well, maybe he doesn't like you in that way.”

“I don't think that's it. I mean, if that were true, he probably wouldn't have kissed me. Or at least wouldn't have let me slip my tongue in.”

“Whoa! He kissed you? You could have mentioned that part sooner!” Brenda threw her arms up. “Why not just kiss him back and go from there? What is the actual problem here, Russell?”

“The fact that after the kiss, we got in a fight about work, then when I asked if he was going to fulfil the traditional marital duty he walked out, and that was yesterday and he still hasn't called me!”

Brenda picked up a cushion and began banging her head against it. “I … have … a theory … about … why,” she said between thumps. Finally, she threw the cushion down. “Look. I'm going to give you one final piece of advice, then you're going to get the hell out of my apartment. _Talk to him._ Tell Timmy, using actual words, that you like him and you want to have sex. Do not use the words 'consummate', 'annulment', 'tradition' or 'marital duty'. Don't use any of your gross euphemisms either, or you might come across as kind of homophobic.”

“How can I be homophobic if I'm hitting on a guy?”

“Oh, you'd be surprised. Moving on. If he doesn't go for it, find out why. Maybe it's something you two can work around, maybe not. If it's something you can't fix – and 'I'm not interested in you that way' _counts_ – drop it. That's all you need to do. Just have a simple conversation with your husband. Now leave me alone.”

* * *

Timmy was unaccountably relived to find his desk just as he'd left it. It wasn't as if anyone would have come in to haul off his possessions and salt and burn the site between now and last Friday, but some irrational part of him had almost been expecting it. Mr Charles didn't seem too surprised to see him there either, which was a nice touch.

“I'm glad you could make it,” he said when he came in. “I gather you managed to sort out that visa issue you were having?”

“In a manner of speaking. I'm not actually here on a work visa any longer. I, um. Got married over the weekend.” Timmy tensed, braced for suspicion and accusation.

“Congratulations,” was the mild reply. “I'd have gotten a card if I'd known. I assume the lucky man is your former employer?”

Timmy gaped and spluttered a bit at that. A number of questions sprung to mind, including _How could you ever think I would marry Russell?, How did you know I married Russell?_ and _Why do you assume it's a man?_

“How did you know?”

“It's none of my business, of course, but it was obvious you were taking the break up very hard. It's nice to see that you two sorted it out.”

Timmy stared blankly at the closed office door for some time. He couldn't decide whether he was aghast at the misunderstanding or amazed that Mr Charles understood more about his love life than Timmy himself did. _At least I won't have to worry about being out at work now I'm married,_ he finally concluded. _Since apparently I already was._

Timmy was still feeling somewhat confused when he arrived at Russell's office. Russell, of course, did absolutely nothing to help the situation, and in fact managed to double Timmy's level of confusion as soon as he walked in the door.

“I brought you a meatloaf sandwich.”

“Great. Listen, you're only going to be here for, like, not even an hour, so I'm gonna cut to the chase. I think we should have sex.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, sir,” Timmy managed to say. He pushed the sandwich into Russell's hands, hoping to force the conversation back into normal territory. “Here.”

Russell put it down on the desk without looking at it. “Why not?”

“There's just no way it would work out well.”

“Hey! I'll have you know that all my sexual encounters end well. Hmm … maybe not _end_ well, but the actual sex part goes great. I have 100% customer satisfaction.”

“That's very comforting, but my satisfaction is not my main concern here.”

“You mean you're worried about _me_? Why?”

“Any number of reasons. But the most relevant one is – well, you've never slept with a man.” His main concern was actually Russell's appalling track record with making sensible decisions about sex, maintaining relationships longer than a week and dealing with his own emotions in any way other than flat out denial, but Timmy wasn't about to say that. It would just start a whole different argument. This, at least, was something he couldn't deny. Or so Timmy had thought. At the look on Russell's face, he had to ask “Um … You haven't, have you?”

“Weeeell ...”

“It shouldn't be a difficult question,” prompted Timmy, more bewildered than ever.

“I had a few threeways with this girl and her boyfriend. He and I fooled around for the lady's viewing pleasure. But that was foreplay; for the actual sex, we both concentrated on her.”

“Oh.”

“Well? Still worried about whether I'll like it? Because you don't have to be. I'm telling you, I'm really easy to please.”

“That is not what I meant when I said I was worried about you. I'm not insecure about my skill as a lover; I'm worried that once we end up in bed together, you'll have some sort of gay panic attack, accuse me of seducing you, run screaming from the room and refuse to speak to me or look at me for a week!”

“That's … specific,” Russell observed. Before Timmy could say anything in response, he continued “You know what I'm getting from this? You've thought about it. A lot.”

“I hardly think –”

“You sleep with Adam, what does he do? Quick! No thinking, off the top of your head!”

“I have no idea. I can't imagine ever being in that situation in the first place, so ...”

Timmy stopped.

Russell was smirking at him.

“All right,” said Timmy. Wincing, he continued “You _may_ have a point. But even if you were right, it wouldn't change anything. My concerns remain valid.”

“But that's what I'm saying! I don't think they are. You're so convinced I'm going to freak out, but I am pretty OK with what's happening whenever I imagine us doing it.”

“Your imagination may not bear the slightest resemblance to real life. In fact, after all the bizarre fantasies you've shared with me throughout our acquaintance, I'm almost positive it doesn't.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I didn't freak out when I was with what'shisface and his kinky girlfriend.”

“When there was a woman in the room to reassure you of your heterosexuality.”

“You wanna bring a woman?”

“No!”

“Cause if you do, I still think that chick from the immigration office was hinting -”

“That is the opposite of what she was doing, and – And this is all ridiculous.”

There was clearly no hope of salvaging this situation. He turned to go.

“Timmy, come on, wait.” Russell walked around his desk, and laid a hand on Timmy's arm. “There was no woman in the room when we kissed the other night.”

“It was one kiss,” said Timmy. He was trying very hard not to remember that moment the other night, not to think about how they'd been standing almost like this … “Kissing someone doesn't necessarily mean you'd want to do anything else with them.”

“That's the worst excuse yet,” said Russell cheerfully. “But OK, I can work with this. If the kiss wasn't proof enough, we can do more. Start small, go further once you believe I'm into it.”

“That's actually quite a reasonable suggestion. I'm impressed.”

“I aim to please. So. Start where we left off?”

He leaned forward.

“Wait, you meant right now? Here?”

Russell looked Timmy dead in the eye and said, with great seriousness, “You have no idea how often I've thought about nailing you in this office.”

After trying and failing to come up with a sensible response to that, Timmy gave up.

“What the hell.” And, grabbing Russell by the shoulders, pulled him in for a kiss.

Despite everything that had been said, part of Timmy was honestly expecting the kiss to end as soon as it began, or he wouldn't have gone for it with half as much enthusiasm. By the time it had registered that Russell was _not_ pulling away, but surging forward to meet him, it was too late to tone it down. Not that he actually wanted to. Russell was clutching Timmy's jacket, holding them tightly in place, pressed chest to chest, and it was … surprisingly … good. Very good. How the hell had that happened?

* * * * *

Adam strode cheerfully down the corridor, stopping in front of Russell's office to beam at his assistant.

“Hey, man. Guess who just got back from his honeymoon!”

“Uh … Kyle from Accounting?”

“What? No, I'm talking about me.”

“But – you didn't go anywhere,” Edward protested. “I saw you three days ago.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, not the real honeymoon, we're gonna do that soon, the wedding was too last minute to plan a trip to Tahiti. Or Italy, if Jen gets her way. But we wanted to celebrate anyway, so we got a hotel room and didn't leave it all weekend, if you know what I mean.” He winked, and started towards Russell's door.

“Wait!” Edward said, just before Adam touched the doorknob. “You don't want to go in there.”

“How come?”

“He's with Mr Patel.”

“That's fine, I like Timmy.” Before Edward could say anything else, Adam had flung the door open. “Hey guys! Guess who's back fr- OH MY GOD!”

Edward was hiding his eyes, but he looked up when he heard the door slam closed again.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Adam.

“Hey, don't look at me. You've met Mr Dunbar, I warned you that he was shut up in there with his husband – what were you expecting?”

“You said he was with _Timmy_! Just because they're married doesn't mean they're, y'know ...” Adam trailed off. “I mean, I didn't think they were really ...” Suddenly, his face lit up. “I've gotta tell Jen about this!”

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about US immigration law except what I've picked up from pop culture.
> 
> The site Russell refers to is this one: http://bisexualindex.org.uk/index.php/AmIBisexual


End file.
